


After King's Cross

by oldenuf2nb



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Heterosexual Sex, Post-War, Public Sex, Romance, The Quidditch Pitch: Erotic Couplings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-19
Updated: 2007-10-19
Packaged: 2018-10-27 16:25:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10812636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oldenuf2nb/pseuds/oldenuf2nb
Summary: Harry is a feeling a bit melancholy after his boys have left for Hogwarts, but his wife wants his undivided attention.





	After King's Cross

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes:

**A/N:** **Even though I have often put dear Harry with a snarky blonde, this pairing was my first fandom favorite.  I write this with thanks to Jo for giving the man a wife, and a family, and a life.**

 

Special thanks to my darling beta, Iamaghost. 

* * *

********

The sun was setting over the forest in the distance, turning the view red and mingled gold at the horizon line, fading to peach, then yellow, then powdery blue the further up one looked into the sky.  Small, soft clouds tinted pink hovered like cotton candy above the line of trees that looked black against the display of color, and a cold breeze tugged at nearly bare branches, sent leaves the colors of the setting sun spiraling dizzily through the sky and across the browning lawn.  It also pulled mischievously at the strands of black hair that fell across the forehead of the man who sat, still as a statue on the small back porch step of the charmingly rustic cottage, broad shoulders hunched, hands deep in the pockets of a worn brown coat.  With his corduroy jacket, his snug, faded jeans and his scruffy boots, he fit right in with the rural picture, like a country gentleman who’d paused on his way in from the field.  It was a bucolic picture, but on closer examination his expression seemed too composed, and his vivid green eyes looked preoccupied, and melancholy.

The door behind him opened abruptly, and Harry Potter jerked a bit at the sharp sound and then straightened and attempted to liven his expression before turning his dark head.  He looked up to find his wife coming out onto the porch, a steaming mug in her pale hand.  She’d changed when they got home from King’s Cross, and now she wore a soft floral print skirt, a pale pink shirt and a heavy cable knit cardigan that he knew his mother-in-law had knitted for her last Christmas.  He attempted a smile, but she just shook her head with a gentle expression and held the mug out to him.

“Nice try,” she said indulgently.  “Here.  Chocolate.”

He grimaced and took the mug from her, and she came to him and settled on the step beside him, leaning into his side.  He sighed softly at the sweet weight and unconsciously supported it with his muscular frame, leaning in counterpoint.  They didn’t speak for several minutes, just watched the vivid colors along the horizon pale as the sun surrendered.  Harry didn’t drink the chocolate, just held it between his large, square palms, using it to warm his hands. The evening had cooled considerably, and the breeze was brisk. It caught in the long strands of Ginny’s ginger colored hair and blew it lazily across Harry’s shoulder, and she tugged the top of her sweater tight around her neck and held it closed.  Her other hand curled around the firm bicep cloaked in heavy corduroy. 

“He’ll be fine, you know,” Ginny said finally, her musical voice soft. 

Harry sighed quietly.  “I know,” he responded.  “It’s just….” He shrugged, and Ginny’s hand tightened in understanding around his arm.  “First it was James, now it’s Albie.”  He shook his dark head.  “Soon it will be Lils….”

“They’re kids, sweetheart,” Ginny murmured, leaning her head against his broad shoulder.  “They grow up.”

“Yeah,” he muttered.  “They were babies for just such a…short amount of time.”  He leaned his head against the top of hers, felt the softness of her hair beneath his cheek.  He could smell the scent that he would always identify with Ginny lifting from the soft waves; flowers, sunshine, newly mown grass, ripe fruit.  He couldn’t take a bite from a peach without thinking of Ginny.  He turned his head and pressed of soft kiss against her temple before straightening again. “I didn’t think it would go so fast.” 

“Is that what’s bothering you?” she whispered.  “That they aren’t babies anymore?”

“I thought that they would need me longer.” 

He spoke so softly that the breeze threatened to steal the words, but Ginny heard them and her hand tightened around his arm.  “Harry, they’ll always need you.  You’re their father.”

“The boys seem so bloody self-sufficient, though.”  He left the mug in one square hand and ran the other through his tousled hair.  

“That’s a good thing,” Ginny assured him, lifting her head to study his profile.  He was still so handsome, her husband.  In fact, more handsome than he’d been when she’d fallen in love with him all those years ago.  The gangly boy was gone, leaving in its place the solid, muscular man beside her with his sculpted features and his soft green eyes.  “They need to be able to take care of themselves.”

“It makes me feel old,” he admitted softly, and Ginny’s expression softened.  

“Sweetheart, you’re 37.  By wizard standards, you’re barely out of your teens.”  He shot her a meaningful look as his fingers toyed with the streak of white hair that rose from his temple and wove amidst the midnight strands just inches above the faded lightning bolt scar that marred his otherwise smooth forehead. It had appeared overnight after his defeat of Voldemort, and no spell or glamour could hide it.  “That doesn’t count,” his wife said indulgently.  “And you’re still marvelously fit, Mr. Potter.  Not an ounce of spare flesh on you.”

He grinned then, and she was happy to see that it finally reached his eyes.  “Nice of you to notice.  And _I_ noticed,” he said with an assessing air, lifting his arm around her shoulders and pulling her snug against his side, “that, compared to a lot of our old school chums, you were looking pretty fit, yourself.”

It was true.  Ginny’s body was still as slender and tight as it had been as a girl, her face almost completely unlined, her long red hair full and lustrous.  Ginny had improved with age, settled into her looks, and she was a lovely woman.  “Parvati has put on a bit of weight,” she said, something like her old mischief sparkling in her brown eyes, “and Dean’s wife was looking a little…”

“Supercilious?” Harry provided with a slight sneer.  Ginny laughed.

“There’s a ten galleon word for you.”  Harry chuckled in response.  “But I think my very favorite part of today would have to be….” She shot her husband a sideways look, and saw his green eyes begin to sparkle behind the round lenses of his glasses.  His dimple, the one she loved, dented his left cheek near his mouth.  She waited for a moment, a giggle trembling around her lips, and they spoke together.  

“Malfoy’s hair!”

Their laughter lifted on the evening air, melding companionably.  Harry looked over into her face, burnished gold by the setting sun, and his eyes softened.  

“You have to know that’s about killing him,” she went on impishly.  She reached up and ran her slender fingers through the thick hair that still graced his head.  “Especially given the mane you’re still sporting.”

He caught her hand, turned his head and pressed a kiss into her palm.  “Weird, isn’t it?” he said, caressing her fingers with his thumb.  “A Potter, a Weasley and a Malfoy, all starting Hogwarts together.”  His smile mellowed.  “History repeating itself.”

“Yes, and if we can keep Ron out of it, they might not try to hex each other’s bits off as often as the three of you did.”

Harry chuckled.  “Rosie will keep Albie in line.  It’ll be up to Scorpius to behave himself.”

Ginny made a noise in her throat.  “Can you imagine hanging that name on a poor defenseless child?  What were they thinking?”

“I seem to remember your brother George saying the same thing about Albus Severus.” He reminded her with a grin.  She shot him a stern look.

“Albus Severus is a fine name,” she said archly.  “He’ll grow into it.  Besides, it was your choice.”  She reminded him, and he looked out across the yard a bit wistfully.

“And I don’t regret naming him after two of the finest men I’ve ever known,” he said softly, then his lips quirked again.  “But it probably will sound better when he’s 145 and has a full beard.” 

She laughed.  “Drink your chocolate before it’s gone completely cold.”

He lifted the cup to his lips and took a sip, and it was a bit cool, but sweet and full, and had a surprising kick.  He swallowed and shot his wife a quick look.  She grinned.

“A bit of the Irish,” she said brightly.  “Do you like it?”

“It’s…interesting,” he answered, taking another swallow.  

“It was Hermione’s idea, actually,” she said softly.  “She thought it might help if you were brooding.”   He frowned but didn’t comment, choosing to drink more of the cocoa.  

Harry had always been something of a lightweight where alcohol was concerned, and as he hadn’t eaten since breakfast, he could already feel a very small buzz at the base of his skull.  It was peaceful sitting there, he reflected, and completely quiet…he straightened slightly.  It was never completely quiet at their small home in Ottery St. Catchpole.  He turned and looked down into his wife’s tranquil face. 

“Where’s Lily?” he asked abruptly, and she grinned.

“Noticed finally?” she said by way of answer.  “Hugo was feeling a bit blue without Rosie, so Hermione asked if Lily could stay the night.”  

“Ah.” 

“And,” she said, reaching over and taking the mug from unresisting fingers, “she thought we might like some time alone.”

“Did she?” He smiled then, a real smile, a sensuous, slow curl of his full lips.  

“Hence, the other reason for the alcohol.” 

His brow furrowed slightly.  “I shared with her once, a long time ago, that a stiff drink seems to render certain parts of you stiff, as well.”  Her eyes heated as she looked at him.  “She thought tonight might be a nice time to reacquaint you with certain parts of my anatomy that have been missing you quite a bit.”

He gaped at her.  “Ginny!” He finally managed, but her grin was unrepentant as she set the mug aside and stood, gracefully turning and straddling his legs, then lowering herself to his knees.  

“Don’t worry,” she said as she settled on his legs. “She told me that all she and Ron have been up to lately is work and kids.  I told her that perhaps she should try a plate of a dozen eggs and some well cooked sausage.  That seems to get him going.” Harry sputtered in laughter even as his cheeks filled with color.  “Mr. Potter,” she said with a soft grin, reaching up and cupping his cheek in her palm, “you’re blushing.”

 

     “I guess I just didn’t realize that you and Hermione discussed our sex life.”

“And you and Ron don’t?”

Harry made a face.  “Gin, you’re his sister.  We have _never_ discussed our sex life, or theirs, for that matter.”

“Well, you aren’t missing anything,” Ginny said pertly.  “They sound boring.”

“Ginny!” he scolded, but his voice was tinged with laughter.  

“They do!” she countered.  “And I don’t want to talk about them anymore.  Wanna snog?”

He laughed aloud.  “What’s gotten in to you?”

“Nothing in about a week, but I’m hoping you can help me out with that.”  Her tawny brows arched as she ran her hands up her husbands strong chest, loving the feel of his laughter vibrating beneath her palms. “I’ve missed you, Harry,” she whispered when his chuckles faded.  

“Have I been neglecting you?” he asked softly, his hand lifting to tuck a soft strand of hair behind her ear.  

“We’ve been busy,” she replied.  “Getting the boys ready, dealing with Lily’s fit of the sulks.” She curled her hand around his nape, her fingers gently caressing the soft black hair just above his collar.  “I knew you’d make it up to me.”

“Shall we take this inside?” he asked, his hands moving to curl around her waist.  She looked thoughtful for a moment. 

“I don’t think so,” she answered, her brown eyes sparkling.  The sun gave its last gasping breath behind her, lining her brilliant hair with flame.  “I think I’d like to take you right here, on the step, where the birds and the bees can see us.”

“And the neighbors,” he reminded her a bit archly, even as her words flowed through him like the hot chocolate, affecting his heartbeat, and the state of his trousers.  “You know Mrs. Pevensie is about somewhere.”

“Oh, who cares,” Ginny huffed softly, leaning forward to nip gently at his cleft chin with her straight white teeth.  “If she gets an eyeful, she deserves it for hanging over the fence.”  Her tongue touched his slightly rough chin, and she felt him shudder.  “Come on, sweetheart,” she brought her mouth up and whispered directly in his ear. “Let’s give the old bat a thrill.  Kiss me.”

One of his hands lifted to the back of her head and curled in her hair, and he pulled her back just enough to look into the wide brown eyes.  His own green looked dark and soulful in the dying light.  “I love you, Ginevra Weasley,” he said softly, his voice a deep purr that made her toes curl.

“I love you, Harry Potter,” she answered, and after just a moment’s pause she angled her head and sealed her mouth over his. 

They had been kissing one another for a long time, but some things never became routine.  Harry never tired of the taste of Ginny, or the small, slippery, mobile tongue that touched his with such wonder.  Ginny never tired of the feel of his full, slightly chapped lips, or the way he angled his head to deepen their connection.  He did it again now, tilting his dark head in counterpoint to hers, sending his tongue into her mouth to caress hers, his fingers moving in her hair. She could taste the sweet chocolate and the Irish whiskey and the brown sugar on his tongue, and sucked on it greedily, like a child finding their favorite treat in an unexpected place. She pressed herself against his hard chest, sending her hand up into his thick hair, and stroked his head from nape to crown and back again as the deep arousal she always felt in his arms began to burn.  Their heads angled in the other direction, the kiss deepening by degrees.  He made a sound in his throat, that sexy, needy sound that always made her feel thick and liquid, and wrapped his arm around her, pulling her into him, then dropped his hand to her bum and eased her closer yet.  His fingers moved against the round flesh, cupping it, squeezing it, and it was Ginny’s turn to moan as she canted her hips forward, seeking blindly to press against his body.  Their lips parted and his mouth skimmed her jaw, dropping to her throat, and she let her head fall back, her hair tickling his wrist where it was curled around her hip.  It had been a long time since they’d kissed with such abandon, since they’d gone at each other with such need, and she gasped when his teeth nipped the soft white skin beneath her ear.

“Harry,” she shuddered, her hand fisting in his hair, “oh, God, Harry. Please…”

His hand slid from her bum and up beneath her sweater and shirt, skimming the smooth cool length of her back, fingers searching.  When they found nothing but more skin, he grunted in satisfaction, curling his hand around her slender body to the front to cup one firm breast in his warm palm.  Her nipple tightened, pebble hard, and she hissed when he began to manipulate her gently.  She opened her eyes and stared into his face, stark and handsome with desire, and moaned when she saw his teeth sink into his lower lip, his black lashes fluttering closed over his eyes as he concentrated on the feel of her, the size and shape of her, as he stroked his thumb over her nipple and made her arch into the touch.  She leaned forward then, sucking his lip from between his teeth into her mouth with a soft pop, stroking her tongue over it before taking it between her own teeth and gnawing gently.  He groaned, and attacked her mouth with renewed vigor.  

While he seemed determined to suck the life from her body, Ginny let one of her hands drift down his hard chest, over the striated stomach to his belt buckle, and then lower to cup his burgeoning hardness in her hand.  He grunted as she squeezed him.

“Gin,” he gasped, pulling his mouth from hers, looking into her eyes.  “God, Ginny I…”

Her fingers lifted to his waistband and she loosened his belt, then pulled the button free and assaulted the zip with nimble fingers.  

“Budge up a bit,” she ordered breathlessly, and he did, lifting his hips for her to push the open trousers and y-fronts down just enough to free his rapidly inflating erection.  With the skill of long years of practice, she circled him with her hand, relishing the slightly damp, velvety feel of him, squeezing the filling flexible coil within the softest skin in the world, moving her fingers to the swelling head and stroking gently.  He exhaled heavily and leaned his forehead against her shoulder, eyes tightly closed, reveling in the feeling of her hands on him. 

When he was fully hard, Ginny pulled her hand away to press his chin up, and took his slackened mouth in another voracious kiss.  He responded instantly, hands suddenly hard on her back and sides, scrabbling to get beneath her shirt to the soft skin.  He parted their lips and leaned back, pushing the fabric of shirt and jumper up until it bunched beneath her arms, leaving her perfect round breasts and raspberry pink nipples bared to his gaze.  He studied the smooth expanse of freckled skin in the dying light, then leaned forward and pulled one tight peak into the heat and suction of his mouth.

Ginny’s head fell back on an inarticulate cry, and she curled her fingers into the thick corduroy that covered his heavy shoulders.  He pulled against her in a pervasive rhythm, and she began to rock her hips forward, her body searching for the press of that arc of hard flesh.  “I want you,” she gasped through lips gone tight with desire, “I want you inside of me, Harry.  Please. I ache with wanting it.”

Unsteady hands came to her knees and work roughened hands slid up smooth, creamy thighs, the soft floral skirt bunching around his wrists as his hands ascended.  When his fingers curled around the full, taut globes of her bum, and there was once again no fabric to impede his enjoyment, he chuckled roughly, deep in his throat.

“Boycotting knickers, too?” he whispered against her flesh.  

“I didn’t think they’d be conducive to seduction,” she answered, sounding as out of breath as if she’d run a mile, and his long fingers curled, indenting her skin.

“Planned this, did you?”

“Need this, more like,” she answered, reached briskly around her side and caught his wrist, and pulled his hand between her legs.  “Touch me, Harry.  Please.”  He didn’t need to be asked twice.

His fingertips encountered soft, springy curls damp with the slick proof of her words.  She needed him, needed this, and the knowledge that he could still do that to her, after all of their time together, quietly thrilled him.  He pressed forward, petting the soft hair and caressing the plump folds before unerringly finding the small, tight hub of nerve endings secreted between furled petals of her sex.  When he touched it, she jerked, a soft keening sound coming from her throat.  He lifted his head to watch her, watch her head drop back, watch her mouth trembling in a soft, open ‘o’.  He loved her so much in that moment that his heart hurt with it, and he changed the position of his hand, entered her gently with his index and second fingers while pressing against her clitoris with his thumb.

Her body clenched around him, squeezing his fingers in a surprisingly tight grip for a woman who’d had three children.  “Jesus, you’re tight, Gin,” he said worshipfully, his mouth returning to her throat.

“You can thank mum for that,” she said breathlessly, rocking her pelvis forward once against the sweet invasion of his fingers.  “There’s this spell she taught me…”

“We are not going to discuss your mother right now,” he laughed a bit desperately, bestowing a warning nip on her neck.  “You want to put me off my game completely?”

“Hey,” she laughed in return, rocking forward again, rewarded with a dark moan, “a woman who’s had seven children needs all the help she can get keeping things interesting.”

He couldn’t stop the laugh that turned into a deep guttural sigh as she tightened around his fingers again, and suddenly all he wanted was to be inside of that wet heat.  He removed his hand and grabbed her hips, pulling her forward and lifting her, and Ginny canted her hips at the perfect angle to take him into her body as he pulled her flush against his groin.  

“Oh,” she whispered, a long drawn out syllable of delight, and satisfaction.  “Oh, Harry.  Oh, God.  It’s perfect.”  

He pressed his forehead hard against her collarbone and rocked up with his hips, once, twice.  Her interior walls fluctuated tight around his aroused flesh, and he gasped.  

“You’re so big,” she muttered, fingers curling painfully into his shoulders, “so big.  I can feel you everywhere, everywhere Harry.”

He made a guttural sound and pressed up again, and she squeaked.  “Oh, god, do that again,” she cried out, tightening almost painfully around him.  He did, and she growled in her throat.  “Just like that, just like that.”

She squeezed his hips with her thighs and began to roll in counterpoint to his emphatic upward thrusts, surging forward, grinding herself against his pubic bone.  His fingers tightened on her to where she knew he would leave bruises, but the pain only added to the pleasure.  She opened her eyes and gripped the hair on the back of his head in a tight fist, pulling his head back.  His green eyes opened, and they looked glazed, stunned, lost…a sense of her own power surged through her, and she caught his chin in her hand and kissed him possessively, forcing his lips open, thrusting her tongue into the wet welcome of his mouth and began to ride him harder than she ever had in her life.  After several long, furious minutes, where Harry simply surrendered and let her take him, she pulled her mouth from his with a wet sound and pushed him until he was half reclining, his back against the door jam.

“Put your hands…over your head,” she demanded breathlessly, pausing.  His eyes opened on hers, still glassy with pleasure.

“What?”

“Your hands, Harry,” she repeated forcefully.  “Put your hands…Over. Your. Head.”

Staring at the fierce light in her brown eyes, the hard set of her jaw, the determination in her gaze, he lifted his hands until they were above his head, wrists crossed.  Instantly, she leaned forward, hands curled around both sturdy wrists, and pinned them against the faded paint of the backdoor.  This brought her breasts near his face, and he caught one pouting nipple with his teeth.  

“Yes,” she hissed.  “Harder.”  He bit down, worrying the hard peak.  “Oh, yes, Harry.  Harder!”  And he tightened the grip of his teeth, and she squealed as she began to rock on top of him again, her slender body ramming his repeatedly into the hard wood against his spine.  His eyes rolled up as she clenched even tighter around his cock, and he had to let go of her nipple to breathe.

“Gin, I can’t…I won’t…” he gasped desperately as he felt the heat building, flaring dangerously in his groin.  “What’s come over you?”

She looked down into his wide green eyes, hers full of so much heat that he felt singed.  “You,” she gasped, arching her pelvis back and then forward again with the full force of her weight behind it.  “You, Harry.  It’s always been you. Is it good?  Is it?”

He bit his lip hard when the rough motion of her body stroked him forcefully. Sweat glistened across his forehead and on his upper lip. “Yes,” he hissed.  “God, yes.  So good, so good….ah, Ginny….!”  His back arched with a strangled cry, his head dropping back, his throat working.

“Come on, Harry,” she demanded, moving against him with focused determination.  “Come now.  Come now!”  And with a startled cry, he did, body bowing hard, arms and legs shaking, hands turning to catch hers in a crushing grip.  He bucked beneath her, and she continued to ride him, continued to force that flexible hardness deep inside the tight recesses of her body until at the very center of her, she felt the spark ignite, felt the repeated pounding high and hard inside of her set off a series of explosions that shook her from the core out.  Her mouth opened on a silent scream, her eyes clenched shut, and she fell into pleasure so complete that it snatched her ability to do more than shudder and tremble and jerk, mindless in the throws of her own shattering release.

 

The silence was broken only by the sound of their tortured breathing, and Ginny had absolutely no idea how long she’d lain on her husband’s chest, or when he’d reclined flat on the step, or when his strong arms had come around her. She only knew that at some point the sun had truly set, and they were now swathed in darkness. There was no reality to her at the moment but for the feeling of him still inside of her, and the slightly ticklish feeling of his seed dribbling down to pool between them.  She sighed in complete contentment and pressed her face against his damp neck.

“Damn, Gin,” he muttered into her hair.  “That was…Merlin…” she felt his lips press against the side of her head, and she smiled vaguely.  “I don’t remember the last time I came that hard…”  Instead of responding, she rubbed one hand over the soft cotton covering his chest, which was still rising and falling as he fought to steady his breathing.  She could feel his heart galloping beneath her palm.  

“Harry?  Ginevra?”

Ginny felt Harry go completely still beneath her at the sound of the querulous, wavering voice drifting towards them in the darkness, and she bit her lip to stifle either a moan or a giggle, she wasn’t sure which.

“Everything all right over there?”

She felt Harry clear his throat.  “Yes, Mrs. Pevensie,” he called, his voice deep in the now almost complete darkness.  “Everything’s fine.”

“Whatever are you doing?  I’ve never heard such going’s on…”

The giggles won, and she pressed her face into Harry’s collar.  

“Uhm,” Harry fought to keep his own voice steady, “we were just de-gnoming the garden.”

A very undignified snort escaped Ginny, and Harry smacked her arse lightly.  

“Oh, well that would explain all of the squealing and grunting, I suppose.” Harry gagged trying to suppress his laughter, and Ginny had to clap a palm over his mouth.  “They do seem to be bigger and more determined this year, don’t they?”  Ginny’s eyes were tearing from trying to hold in her mirth, and she felt Harry’s chest shuddering beneath her.  “Well, I’m for bed.  You have a nice evening….”

“You too, Mrs. Pevensie,” Ginny called, lifting her head and going very still, waiting for the sound of the neighbors back door closing.  When it echoed across the connecting lawns, she collapsed on top of Harry, her forehead pressed to the center of his chest, and they both began to laugh.  Their hilarity lasted for a long time. 

“Nice save,” Ginny finally managed. “’De-gnoming the garden’.”

“Yes,” her husband answered, sounding suffocated.  “That would certainly explain all the grunting and squealing.”  His laughter rumbled through his chest.

“And she has absolutely no idea how _big_ and _determined_ they are!”  And they were gone again for several more minutes.

When they finally began to wind down, Harry circled her with his arms, his hand going to the back of her head and cradling it against his muscular chest.  “That was really something, Mrs. Potter,” he said gently, his fingers moving in her hair.  “I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, but what was that?”

Ginny’s lips curved in a soft smile.  “You have a really lousy memory, Mr. Potter.” She countered enigmatically.  He went very still, and she knew he was trying to figure out what he had forgotten.  It wasn’t their anniversary; they’d gotten married in June, and it was September.  And it wasn’t her birthday.  She decided to take pity on him and lifted up, her elbows on his chest, her eyes searching for his in the dim light.  “You don’t remember the one thing that is guaranteed to make me randy as an old Billy goat?  I know it’s been a while, but…”

He stared at her in incomprehension, but she saw the moment when he understood, and his green eyes went very wide.  “Ginny…” he gasped, his hands curling around her shoulders, and she smiled slowly.  

“Well, we’re still well behind Trelawney’s prediction, and we aren’t getting any younger…”

Sybil Trelawney, their one time Divination teacher, had been an odd guest at their wedding, tucking in to the champagne with a little more enthusiasm than was strictly dignified.  When she’d come up to them on the dance floor, a vacant expression on her face, the eyes behind the lenses of her glasses magnified to absurd proportions, Ginny had just grinned.  But Harry had gone cold; especially when the voice that had emanated from her had been guttural, and ghostly.  He’d heard it before, and he quickly moved Ginny behind him.

_“The one who vanquished the Dark Lord shall flourish,”_ she’d wheezed.  _“He shall bond with the seventh child of a seventh child, and they shall beget seven of their own.  The one who vanquished the Dark Lord shall flourish…”_

And then, as she was want to do, Trelawney had suddenly coughed like a cat dislodging a fur ball and straightened and looked around at all of the faces turned in her direction, a lost expression on her pointed face.  And the shock and pallor on Harry’s at the mention of _begetting_ seven children had become part of Weasley family lore.  He’d never live it down.

With the birth of each of the Potter offspring, George and Ron had smirked, making comments like; “One down, six to go, Harry.”  Or after Lily had been born, “you’re about half way there, mate!”  But then they’d gone five years without a pregnancy, and the last had ended in a miscarriage, and the jokes had stopped in the face of Ginny’s grief and disappointment.  Harry and Ginny hadn’t actively done anything to prevent conception, but they’d resigned themselves to be happy with the three beautiful, bright children that they had. 

So Harry looked up at her now, torn between shock and a slow building pleasure.  “Ginny?” he repeated, sitting up, his arm going around his wife’s still slender waist to hold her in place.  “Are you sure?”

She was glowing.  Even in the darkness, her face appeared lit from within, and when she smiled, her teeth gleamed white.  “I wanted to wait until I’d seen a healer, until I knew that everything was all right this time.  And then I wanted to wait until the boys had gone, and Lily was at Ron and Hermione’s, so that I could tell you when we were alone….”

“Ginny,” he breathed, his hands coming up to cup her cheeks.  “Ah, Gin…”

One of her hands lifted to cover the back of his.  “There’s more,” she whispered, looking a bit nervous for the first time.  

“More?” he gasped with an incredulous laugh.  “What more could there be?”  She studied his green eyes carefully, and he thought he saw a sheen along her lower lids.  “Ginny…”he said, something tightening around his chest when he saw the tears.  “What…”

“Nothing bad,” she said quickly, squeezing his hand.  “I just…” She paused, took a deep breath.  “I had the healers check me really carefully this time.  I wanted to be sure that everything was perfect.”  She paused again, bit her lower lip.  “We’re catching up on the prediction, sweetheart,” she said, her lips beginning to tremble.  “It’s twins.  Boys.”

He gasped, and felt the corners of his eyes sting.  They’d talked about this, in the deep, sensual nights when they’d first been married, when they’d lain entwined, sated, so very much in love.  Twins ran in her family, and they’d decided that if it were ever boys… “Fred and George,” he whispered, and she nodded then, tears overflowing.  He pulled her to him with a choked sound, and they held one another as tightly as their arms would allow.  Finally, she pulled back a bit, reached for one of his hands and lay it over the spot low on her abdomen, near where they were still joined, where their children rested.  

“Fred and George.”  She looked up into his eyes, her own full of all of the happiness in the world.  

He stared into the face of the girl he’d first seen on platform nine and three quarters at King’s Cross twenty-six years ago to the day, the face of the woman he loved with all of his heart, and smiled through a sudden rush of tears.  “Fred and George,” he repeated again.  “God help us.”

Their laughter mingled between their lips as they kissed.


End file.
